


Tequila Sour

by vinumxvitae



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Body Shots, M/M, look sometimes tequila is necessary, personal hc that my v loves margaritas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinumxvitae/pseuds/vinumxvitae
Summary: Combat mods have more than one use, and tequila tastes better in someone else’s mouth.
Relationships: Mateo Thiago/Male V
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	Tequila Sour

V can't remember where he got the mod. Some shady ripperdoc, one he's never seen before and will likely never see again, but he doesn't care. All he cares is that it slows time just for a few moments, just long enough for him to _absorb_ the noises Mateo makes when he flattens his tongue against his collarbones.

Salt rasps against Mateo's skin, burning in the cut on V's lip as he leans up to kiss him so hard he feels their teeth click. They laugh against each other's lips between breaths and V thinks it might be the messiest thing he's ever done. Clumsy, nasty kisses until their mouths taste like the rim of a margarita glass and lime.

He breaks away to take a shot of tequila. It's cheap tequila that burns like kerosene and the lime wedge is almost necessary, even just for the coldness of the fruit itself. He passes the bottle to Mateo, settling down further into his lap, watching him bite back a wince at the taste.

V figures he has enough lime in his own mouth to do the trick. Mateo doesn't complain. He scolds V softly for leaving a hickey that he'll have to cover for work, mumbling something about _professionalism,_ but that only urges him to leave more down the front of his open shirt.

Mateo’s back hits the mattress with a thump, and V thinks to himself that this is _much_ better than straddling him on the couch. There's more room, more places for him to bite and taste, even though bending down to kiss his chest makes him dizzy.

_Ride me_ , Mateo murmurs, yanking at V's hair to get his attention. V laughs and runs his tongue beneath the front of Mateo’s pants, biting the crease of his hips when they buck up to greet him. He tucks all the pleas that he earns away for later, smiling to himself as fingers tighten in his hair, following the hard outline of Mateo’s cock through the fabric with an open mouth.

One unit of RAM ticks up in his peripheral. The mod kicks in again and the only thing he can hear is the tick of his own heartbeat, in time with the desperate jump of Mateo’s cock against his mouth. He can feel individual threads in the fabric, feel the strain in every little fiber, waiting for his next heartbeat like the drop at the top of a rollercoaster.

Time lurches forward again and V’s stomach rolls, adrenaline burning at the base of his skull. Mateo takes advantage of his disorientation and bridges him off to the side, rolling to leverage him down into the mattress until he can strip them both. V doesn’t mind; he revels in working Mateo up into such a frenzy, grinning up at him, pulling at the strings of beads around his neck until the magnetic clasp gives and he can ogle his softly-toned body without obstruction.

V never fails to gasp every time he feels cold chrome-plated fingers dig into his skin. He knows the routine and yet it still knocks the breath out of him when they dip into his heat, once, twice, just enough to slick him with lube from god-knows-where that smells like fake strawberries and shame.

He wants to antagonize. It’s in his bones, built into his DNA to be as much of a bastard as humanly possible. _What vending machine took your quarters for that?_ he teases, but Mateo silences him with a quirk of his fingers that makes his toes curl.

Mateo rolls them again, and V realizes with a little thrill that he’s about to have the life fucked out of him. _Ride me_ means _sit pretty_ in Mateo-speak. V can feel his bright white eyes raking over him, following all the interwoven tattoos and buried cybernetics, fluttering shut as he sinks his hips onto his cock.

Buried to the hilt isn’t deep enough. Mateo pushes up into him, pulling down on his shoulders until he’a certain there’s no space left between them. V gives him a breathless laugh and crumples forward until they can share a few lazy kisses, mouths sticky with lime and tequila, only to be shoved back up for leverage as Mateo rocks into him.

V watches the RAM indicator in the corner of his vision. It ticks up with every other thrust and he has to fight to restrain himself. He wishes that he could abuse the mod and ride the feeling out forever, trapping Mateo's hands on his hips as their rhythm grows desperate and clumsy. Mateo's determined silence tells him that they're both teetering just on the edge, tempting him, but he waits.

He waits until he hears Mateo’s strained command.

_Come for me, V._

Mateo fucks like a well-oiled machine, but something about that little phrase never fails to put V past the point of no return. Maybe it’s his voice, or the way that it sounds like a plea; V doesn’t care to unpack it. He catches the sudden bloom of white-hot heat in his core and triggers the mod, dizzy with ecstasy when time slows to a near halt again.

Suddenly, he’s very aware of every single _millimeter_ of Mateo’s cock. He can feel his own body start to brace for the next thrust, tightening muscle-by-muscle, his climax building until the ache is unbearable. He wonders if Mateo can feel a difference, or if the raunchy moan that’s halfway out of his mouth sounds as good as it feels to let go.

Time surges forward again. V breaks with a cry that urges Mateo on, his fingers digging into the curve of V’s ass as he drives up into him with no mercy. V spills across his stomach, pleading with him as the intensity starts to make his ears ring, but he doesn’t beg for him to stop. He begs Mateo to fuck him even harder, his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright.

Mateo croons something beneath him, something ridiculously _explicit_ that he tries to memorize for later before it gets drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He can feel a hand searching for purchase in the back of his hair and he leans back into Mateo’s palm, letting him grab a fistful for leverage, sneaking one last peak at the mess on his stomach before his grip tightens.

His scalp burns when Mateo yanks at his short black hair. He arches into the pain, gasping, his stability dissolving as Mateo leverages him down onto his cock one last time. Mateo’s climax is always a thing of beauty, V thinks, his eyes fixed on his face as release washes over him in waves. The gleam of his white eyes beneath fluttering lashes, the way he bites his lip, how his hair falls against the pillow. V tells himself it’s just the post-orgasm haze talking, grinning down at him as they rock together for just a moment longer.

It’s almost tender, maybe even a little romantic. Mateo makes a soft noise in protest when V slides off him, whispering something about the shower, rubbing the back of his head as if to apologize for the hair-pulling.

_You gotta pull harder than that,_ V says, and Mateo scoffs as he reaches for the tequila.


End file.
